


This Guy's In Love with You

by zoeburchard



Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Crazy Boys, Dancing, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, boreo, boris' birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:54:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27625694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoeburchard/pseuds/zoeburchard
Summary: It's Boris' birthday and Theo throws him a party but gets stuck in his own head, unable to enjoy himself at all.
Relationships: Theodore Decker & Boris Pavlikovsky, Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Comments: 8
Kudos: 62





	This Guy's In Love with You

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the scene in Boy's in the Band where Harold is walking up the stairs and finally gets to the party to find it all in disarray.   
> The song Boris is dancing to is This Guy's In Love With You by Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass, threw some of the lyrics in there cause it felt right. 
> 
> This might be a hot mess, I've been working on it for a couple of weeks and tonight it finally felt finished enough to post.   
> Enjoy! Thanks for reading!

I saw the painstakingly detailed leather of his black Oxford boots before I saw the whole perfect mess of him. One step at a time down the dark staircase lit by a single uncomfortable green fluorescent, bathing the perfectly shined leather in emerald, he moved towards me. Black velvet reflected green giving him a more mysterious and alluring look like the Wizard of Oz. I leaned back on the dirty concrete wall, my head tilted back, and took a deep drag of the cigarette I had almost forgotten about. The air of confidence that surrounded him was positively breathtaking. I tried not to look as he ran a hand through his messy dark curls, stepping close- too close- to me, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from him.

“Potter.” His accent pierced through my eardrums and reverberated through my bones. I had hated the nickname at first, but like the rest of him, it grew on me.

“Boris.” I held the poker face I’d become so accustomed to keeping around him, not as unguarded like we once were as children. Whatever we had become was too complicated, but still we never addressed it. Instead, I pushed down the thing inside me that threatened to leap out of my throat every time Boris walked in a room.

He looked as he often did in my dreams. When nightmares alluded me, I no longer dreamed of Pippa (or Kitsey or anyone I had once fantasized about.) After reuniting with Boris again in New York and the whole fucked up experience in Amsterdam my dreams were filled with black curls, pale white skin and the most perfect row of smiling, sparkling white teeth no one ever could have been born with.

Long fingers reached toward me as he took the cigarette from my lips placing it between his own, taking a drag, slowly blowing the smoke back in my face. “Is this how we celebrate, Potter? In dark stairwell alone with not even vodka to keep warm? Had I not known you were waiting for me, I would think you want to kill me standing in dark like this,” he said gesturing to the space in which we stood, engulfed by shadow, cigarette between his fingers, one hand in his pocket. He took another drag. “Is my birthday! Come, show me good time!” He threaded his arm through mine. His presence was intoxicating and I hated myself for the way my heart sped up at the contact. I hoped he couldn’t feel the beat of it where our bodies touched. I felt the featherlight touch of his fingers to my lips as he replaced the cigarette. Taking one last breath, I snubbed it out on the concrete wall.

“You’re the one who was late. I’ve been waiting here for 20 minutes.”

“Ha, is for fashion, yes?” He stepped back a little, not letting go of my arm, for me to marvel at his outfit. I raised an eyebrow, refusing to give him what he wanted, even if it was his birthday. “So serious always.”

He pushed me lightly with his shoulder, smiling, always smiling. I adjusted my glasses and made a fake, toothy grin at him. “No, no, not that- looks stupid, not real.”

“There’s no making you happy, Boris. Let’s go. We’re already late.” With that we set off down the stairs to the door that would lead us to the party I had planned just for Boris.

It always amazed me how he walked. As though he was 10 feet tall, he moved with absolute certainty and fearlessness, never worried the next step might be his last, never wanting the next step to be his last. He savored each moment in a way I had always envied. Our mutually terrible childhoods had poisoned me against the world in a way it never had for Boris. He’d been through unimaginable horrors, constant change and had a far more loveless family than I and yet he looked at every moment as an opportunity to find some kind of joy in life. As we walked, arm in arm down the last flight of steps to the door of Miriam’s apartment, his head was held high, each sanguine step marked by the clicking heel of his boots. He squeezed my arm, gaze kept straight ahead.

It was only fitting that we threw him a party as vibrant as he was. Right on cue, as we walked through the doors, 30 champagne bottles were popped, bubbles flying in the colorful lights of the apartment, as everyone screamed happy birthday. It was a magnificent site in the lovely, intimate setting of the well decorated apartment. Laughter, drinks, general merriment, definitely some illicit drugs- all the things Boris enjoyed.

And then there was, of course, his gift. A man smaller than Boris, dressed in a mesh crop top and black jeans that left nothing to the imagination, ran up to him, tapped him spritely on the nose before wrapping arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. I took my cue to slip away, unlinking our arms, leaving an emptiness behind where he had been. Surprised and clearly delighted, Boris took the man around the waist and pulled him tight to his chest as they kissed. Gyuri handed me a drink as I watched the spectacle with everyone else.

When Boris broke their kiss he laughed that deep Russian laugh that colored my memories of Vegas bright yellow. “Is perfect gift! Who’s to thank for such thoughtful present?” He shouted into the crowd. I slunk off through the people in search of a less occupied area from which to watch the friends of my friend celebrate his life. One by one everyone came up to him, embracing him, getting tight hugs and cheek kisses in return. I watched his hands dance across shoulders, holding the faces of his friends playfully, softly touching each person in an intimate way that made you feel deeply connected to him. It had always been his nature to be overly affectionate with everyone, something I myself had enjoyed and avoided in equal measure throughout my life- back in Vegas, hands brushing as we laid out by the pool, arm flung thoughtlessly across my shoulders, his legs sprawled over mine as we read on the couch, and the occasional kiss that never really meant anything.

I had finished my first beer and was onto a vodka tonic when Gyuri appeared at my side. “Is nice party you throw for our Borya.” I nod to him in appreciation, taking a long drink.

Uninvited, he sat down on the couch next to me, taking a swig from a bottle of vodka he had claimed as his own. The music was loud. The floor pulsed under my feet. Gyuri was staring. Perhaps it was unreasonable to expect to be left alone at a party, but I found myself annoyed at Gyuri’s presence.

“Did you need something, Gyuri?” I asked curtly. Gyuri had always been kind, friendly even, towards me but tonight I wasn’t in the mood to listen to whatever it was he wanted to fill my ears with.

Lips curling into an amused grin, he leaned his arm up on the back of the couch, crossing his legs and turning towards me, taking another drink from the bottle. “You know, Potter—” I don’t think he knew my real name. Boris only ever introduced me as Potter to his friends (to which they would smile, eyes lighting up as if they’d known me their whole lives.) “Borya loves to party, but all he talks of is ‘Potter this, Potter that’. We fly all over country because ‘Potter is buying back fake furniture, might need muscle.’ I am muscle, yes? Borya keeps eyes on you, gives space but wants always to be close.” He nods towards me, drinks again, and looks over his shoulder to where Boris is drinking and laughing, surrounded by his friends. I didn’t know that Boris had been keeping such close tabs on me and tried not to think about the reason why. He was a free spirit and I was a sinking ship. He was the moon, I was the water- deadly and offering nothing but a poorly rendered, fading reflection of the of the beautiful celestial body that had been a guiding light to many lost souls throughout all of time. God knows he was my guiding light on the darkest nights of my life.

“Potter, you understand, yes?” I didn’t look at Gyuri but right past him to the lithe, well dressed figure that was Boris- talking animatedly, gesturing wildly with his hands while his companions listened in rapture. “If all this gone, whole world gone, but you and Borya, he would smile like this,” he finished as he pointed towards Boris, smiling as if on cue. Swallowing hard I downed the rest of my drink and I felt the weight distribution on the couch shift as Gyuri stood, grasping my shoulder with a giant hand, squeezing, and disappearing into the people.

I let my head fall, exasperated, against the back of the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling. _What the hell was Gyuri talking about anyways?_ It wasn’t necessary to think about what it all meant. _Was it?_ What this party meant, why Boris had followed me. _He just wanted me to be safe, right?_ He had always looked out for me- we were each other’s family. We hadn’t seen each other in so long, and sure, since we had found each other again we had become as inseparable as two very busy adults could be, but that was just us falling back into what we had known as children. And if that didn’t mean anything, surly this did not either. But I couldn’t crush the feeling that if the whole world were to disappear, just like Gyuri had said, and all that was left was Boris and me, I would smile as well.

The music shifted to an unexpectedly slow song, soft piano playing. I was enjoying the much quieter sound when a shadow passed over my eyes, my previously unobstructed view of the very high and very black ceiling now gone.

_You see this guy, this guy’s in love with you_

“Dance with me, Potter.” I swallowed hard. I didn’t even like dancing and the only thing in the world I wanted to do was dance with him in that moment, to just say yes. His eyes were dark, hardly visible, but his eyelashes caught the light and I had never quite realized how long they were. For a moment I just stared at him, the halo of orange light highlighting each individual strand of black hair. I shook my head.

_Yes I’m in love who else looks at you the way I do_

“Please,” he pouted, “is my birthday.” He cocked his head to the side, grinning in that perfectly Boris way that got him both in and out of trouble on a daily basis. Gently he ran his hands through my hair. I shut my eyes, unable to look at him, and shook my head again.

_When you smile I can tell we know each other very well_

The light above suddenly bathed my face, the air was cold. I opened my eyes to find him gone. To dance with him would be more than I could bear. It was hard enough to ignore the thing inside me that left me guilt ridden, feeling disgusting. Those nights I dreamed of Boris? Those nights, I would wake up, not screaming, but drenched in sweat feeling sick to my stomach. I couldn’t feed that feeling, that thing that left me breathless around him. Slowly turning my head to the side I saw he had his present wrapped up in his arms, swaying slowly nuzzling into his neck. I wanted to (but couldn’t) look away. He was so beautiful in his velvet suit, in the arms of a man that should have been me.

_My hands are shaking don’t let my heart keep breaking_

Then his eyes met mine, I had been caught, and he held my gaze hostage. Our eyes stayed locked as he kissed the neck of the young man his arms, threading one hand up into his hair, the other snaked around to caress the bare skin of his lower back. He didn’t blink, not once, as he pulled back and kissed his dance partner on the lips once more, eyes open, staring right into my soul. Finally he closed his eyes and melted into the kiss as I let out the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding.

_I need your love, I want your love, Say you’re in love, in love with this guy, if not I’ll just die_

That was as much as I could watch, something boiling in my chest that I pushed down, for years, choosing to ignore. I never had Boris’ confidence. His complete lack of concern for what other people thought was something I could not wrap my head around. People were cruel, Boris was good, and I was a coward. He never had to _come out_ he always just _was_ Boris- being with anyone and everyone that he found alluring, never worrying about what it meant, what it said about him or what other people called him because of it.

As the song came to an end I looked back to see Boris unwrapping himself from around his plaything, kissing him on the cheek as he wandered off, presumably to find a drink. _A drink._ That was exactly what I needed, I decided, as the music picked up again.

I managed to find Gyuri who, by some miracle, had not finished the bottle of vodka he was carrying around. I must have looked the mess I felt as he generously shoved the bottle in my hands when I approached him, giving a look that said _you need a drink._ I drank long and deep, opening my throat and letting the clear liquid go straight down. “Good. Thank you.”

Death grip on the neck fo the bottle I felt my body sway just a little to the music. I shut my eyes and imagined Boris dancing with me even though moments ago I could have been actually dancing with him. Dream Boris meant I didn’t have to face the reality of what I felt. _If all this gone, whole world gone, but you and Borya, he would smile like this._ Gyuri’s words kept coming back to me. My eyes shot open, I took another drink, and settled on studying the movements of the other party guests to avoid myself. The vodka helped. I shook my head as the room became softer, my skin became warmer and my thoughts quieted a little.

“Always watching, Potter, never in on the action.” I jumped slightly, startled as thin arms slipped around my waist, long fingers holding my hips tightly. In my pleasant alcoholic haze I turned to look at Boris, our noses bumping, his chin resting on my shoulder.

He pushed my hips, moving my body to the beat and I took another drink before Gyuri snatched the bottle out of my hands. Inhibition fully off duty for the night, I reached a hand up to graze my fingers lightly over his cheek in a way I had seen him enjoy many times before in all the various clubs we had been to together. He was right- I was always watching him, though I never realized he’d been aware. “You enjoy your present?”

Lifting an eyebrow, flashing a devilish smirk, he spoke, the surprise evident in his voice, “Is from you?” I nodded, turning my gaze away from him. I felt his nose touch my ear, warm breath tickling my neck as he whispered, “He is delicious. You should try.”

Slapping Boris’ cheek playfully I moved to escape his grasp, but he pulled me in tighter to his body, his chest pressed tightly against my back. “Really, is lovely present, but not what I wanted.”

I don’t know what I was thinking, surely I wasn’t, thanks to the vodka, but I humored him and asked, “What did you want?” There was nearly nothing I wouldn’t do for that man in that moment, seduced by the alcohol and the feeling of him pressed up against me, hands holding and teasing the skin at my waist. I was powerless.

“You know, Theo. Have always known,” and with hands stronger than they used to be, he turned me around in his arms without letting go so we faced each other and there was no escape. In a soft, unguarded moment he looked to the floor, curls falling across his eyes and there was no fight left inside me. There would be no returning to a time before this. Lifting his chin, I brushed the hair out of his eyes, both hands moving to rest on either side of his soft, white neck, thumbs tracing his jawline. The beat of the music helped bolster my confidence, the little smirk playing at his lips was the final push I needed.

“Alright.” His eyes widened just a little and he looked like the boy I had known in Vegas, wild, bright and full of life. “Happy birthday, Boris,” I said quietly, just for him, leaning my head down to press my lips against his. His hands slid up around my neck, arching his body into mine. What started out soft and sweet quickly turned into eager hands grabbing at my hair, my face, my back. Every time I had imagined this moment it was accompanied by regret and guilt. But then, in that space and time, everything felt so correct, like this was what we were meant for- to be in each other’s arms, in each other’s lives. The warmth of him, the cigarette smell mixed with his cologne- it was all so much more than I could have planned for. Now that I had him in my arms, I couldn’t let him go and he didn’t seem to mind.

Slowly we broke the kiss, our foreheads resting together, breathing in each other’s air. “Took you long enough, Potter.” He smiled wide, but his eyes looked mischievously in my direction.

“What?”

He shrugged playfully, “Is second best birthday present ever.” He tugged gently on the hair at the nape of my neck.

Confused, I pulled back to look him fully in the face without letting him go. “Second best?”

“First best- Vegas, 15th birthday, very high, very drunk— you gave _excellent_ present.” He winked at me, slid out of my arms and walked away, footsteps picking up pace as I pushed through the crowd to chase him.


End file.
